บททั้งหมดของ Bewitching the Alpha: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

Guilermo carried me deeper into the forest than I had ever dared to go, past the worn trails where festival-goers might wander, past the patrol routes that Sibal's wolves monitored, into a part of the Ironwood where the trees pressed close, their trunks thick and unyielding, and the branches wove together so tightly that the sky above vanished into a dark ceiling. The air was cool, damp, and heavy with the scent of moss, earth, and something older, something primeval that hummed beneath the skin. It was alive, as if the forest itself were holding its breath in anticipation of what was coming.Finally, he set me down in a small clearing. The ground was soft with thick, verdant moss that cushioned my feet and smelled of rain and secrets centuries old. Moonlight sifted through the dense canopy above, falling in broken silver patches across the clearing. Guilermo stepped back just far enough to look at me, his eyes scanning my face like he was memorizing it, tracing every line, every shado

I had been dragged back to the Coven House. Sibal had personally overseen the process, his eyes scanning me for any trace of the Wolf’s influence.But he didn't find the tracker.The small, gray pebble was hidden in the lining of my coat, stitched into the seam where even a magical scan might miss it. It was my secret. My lifeline.I went back to work. I drew sigils. I mixed potions. I smiled at the other witches and pretended to be the contrite, obedient battery I was supposed to be.But every time I was alone, I touched the seam of my coat.I missed him.It was a physical ache, a hollowness in my chest that no amount of meditation could fill. I missed his heat. I missed his laugh. I missed the way he looked at me.But I couldn't see him. Not yet. Sibal was watching me too closely.I had to be patient. I had to wait for the storm to pass.Two weeks later, the Coven hosted a gala.It was a political event, a gathering of the supernatural elite to discuss trade agreements and territoria

The night of the Coven Gala had left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.It wasn't the champagne. It was the secrecy. The twenty minutes in the library had been heaven, but walking away from Guilermo had been hell. And Sibal’s knowing smile had been the final nail in the coffin of my patience.I was back in the Coven House library, this time officially. Sibal had assigned me to reorganize the restricted section, a task that was usually reserved for senior archivists. It was a punishment disguised as a promotion. The restricted section was dusty, dark, and filled with books that whispered if you touched them wrong.But it was also quiet. And it had a back door.I was on a ladder, shelving a heavy tome on necromancy, when I heard the click of the lock.It wasn't the main door. It was the service entrance, the one hidden behind a tapestry of the Great Burning.I froze. Only Elders had the key to that door."If you're here to check my work, Elder," I called out, keeping my back to the room, "

A dull, throbbing pressure behind my eyes that I dismissed as stress or dehydration. I took aspirin. I drank water. I ignored it.But three days after the library, the headache turned into a fever.It wasn't like Guilermo’s fever. It wasn't hot. It was cold. A freezing, creeping chill that started in my marrow and radiated outward.I was in my apartment, trying to pack a bag for the Solstice. My hands were shaking so badly I dropped my toothbrush."Just nerves," I whispered to myself, bending down to pick it up.The room spun.I grabbed the edge of the sink, my knuckles white.This isn't nerves.I looked in the mirror.My reflection stared back at me, pale and gaunt. My eyes were sunken, rimmed with dark circles. But the worst part was my magic.Usually, my aura was a faint violet haze. Now, it was… gray. Like ash.I touched my chest, right where the Null Stone had been. The burn mark was healed, but the skin felt sensitive, raw.My phone buzzed on the counter.Guilermo: Checking in. A

The world had reduced itself to two distinct temperatures. The biting, absolute zero of the wind against my exposed face, and the furnace-like heat of Guilermo’s chest where my cheek rested.I was floating.It wasn't a good floating. It was the weightless, sickening sensation of a spirit coming unmoored from its bones. My body felt heavy, a sack of lead and ice that Guilermo was hauling through the snow, but my mind was drifting upward, tethered only by the golden thread of his voice."Stay with me, Lilura. Don't you dare close your eyes."He wasn't shouting. He was growling the words into the collar of his coat, a low-frequency rumble that vibrated through my ribs and kept my heart beating out of sheer obedience.We were moving fast. His stride was long and uneven, slipping occasionally on the cobblestones that were rapidly disappearing under a blanket of white. I could hear his breath hitching, the wet, ragged sound of a man pushing his physical limits. He wasn't just carrying my wei